Page 35 of Kept in the Dark

The seconds tick by, stretching into minutes, and she does not emerge from the bathroom. After half an hour, I slam the book shut with an exasperated noise. There is no escape route through the bathroom—it is underwater.

What is she doing in there?

I wait a few more minutes, then stand and move down into the lower cabin. I notice immediately that the first-aid kit is gone. When I strainmy hearing, I am just able to make out tiny hisses of discomfort over the sound of the fan.

“Nicole?” I call, and the parallels to earlier, after she just woke up, are not lost on me. Sharing a bathroom will be an exercise in patience.

She hisses, “Fuck,” under her breath and calls, “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Um, I’m dealing with some cuts and stuff. My feet.”

Guilt rises swiftly, and I rest my forehead gently against the door so it does not make a sound. “You… want help?”

“No,” she rushes to reply. “No, that’s okay. I can manage. Thanks!”

Her tone is too bright, too forced. I do not like it. “One good turn deserves another,da?” I remind her, though the phrase feels foreign in my mouth. It is not a creed by which I would live my life, but I can acknowledge its place in hers.

She laughs once, but it is a self-deprecating noise as she mutters to herself, “Should have seen that one coming.” Louder, she calls, “It’s really fine, Dimitri. Thank you, but I can put ointment on my own feet.”

Irritation prickles.

Why? Because she will not let me assist her? Ridiculous. Why should I care? As if Iwantto tend to her?

No, I offered to return a favor, so there are no debts between us. Her refusal changes nothing.

I return to my seat, but the words drift together as I pretend to read. After what must be hours—possibly days—of waiting, the door opens and Nicole steps up into the navigation area.

I nearly groan aloud. She is wearing my clothes.

The way her breasts strain against a too-tight T-shirt, how the pants stretch over her hips… Her body is so different from mine—seeing her in something that I have worn is sending waves of hot, urgent desire through me. It is as if how she covers her body is something in my control, at my whim, like she belongs to me as much as the clothes I allow her.

The black clothing contrasts well with her golden skin and hair, though white would be better, and I would be able to see more of her…

“This place is… um… cozy. Not really made for company, huh?” she adds, a small joke that not even she laughs at. A wave rocks the boat more than she is expecting, and she nearly falls. I tense, about to lurch to my feet to help, but she catches herself, scrambling to find purchase on the counter. “What is there to do?”

I glance around, trying to see the room through her eyes. Things to do? What do I usually do when I come here? What does anyone do on a boat? I sleep, eat, fish, read… “There are books?”

She squints at the shelf. “In Russian?”

Not all of them. Not the one I am holding. “Do you want a Russian lesson?”

She laughs once. “Do you want to teach me Russian?”

Yes.My pride will not let that be my response to her disbelieving laughter. Besides, I would not make a good teacher in this subject. “No.”

As she moves slowly towards the counter on bandaged feet, my eyes are glued to her rear. My lips part, breath quickening. It is a handful and then some. Would her muscles bulge between my fingers if I gripped it hard enough? Would it jiggle as I slapped it? Would the skin rise like gooseflesh against my lips and the bristles of my stubbled cheeks?

My cock jumps in my pants, demanding and heavy. I adjust my seated position so she might not see her own effect on my body.

“Are you hungry?” I blurt, partly to distract myself.

She makes a face, and her hand goes to her stomach. “I’m actually a little seasick, I think.”

“There is Dramamine.”

“Yeah, I found it already. I tooksome, thanks.”